


The Quarter Quell

by deynaianbloom



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deynaianbloom/pseuds/deynaianbloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 25th Hunger Games, Elena Flint has been voted into the arena. Outcast in her district for something she didn't do, she never thought someone would believe in her. It's up to Benedict, her mentor and the man who loves her, to help her survive the Games. But will it be enough to keep her alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quarter Quell

-i-

In District 5, most of the land is covered with the turbines. Each turbine keeper is responsible for a five mile plot. We make sure that the turbines get fixed when they break, a process that involves a lot of climbing and engine grease. One turbine in each plot has a small home attached to the bottom for the keeper to live in. It’s a lonely life, even if we do group up every so often and go to town for supplies.

It rains a lot in my territory. I sit in my small home, room is a better word, and sip weak coffee. I stare out my small window and try to ignore the memories that pop up whenever I look around at the furniture. In a flash of lightning, I spot something that makes me get up and grab my coat.

The only perk to living a lonely life is we’re all given electric taser rods. The Peacekeepers don’t like animals making homes in the fields, since they get in the way when turbines need parts delivered. The Head only needed to step in skunk droppings one time before he issued us the rods. If we take them one step outside our five mile ranges, the rods electrocute us. Since corpses bring more pests, we’re allowed to eat the game we electrocute. If we sell any part of it, it’s punishable by 20 lashes. Needless to say, all the keepers stay warm in the winter with pelt covers.

I pick up my rod from its hook on the wall, and step outside to catch the latest vermin: a huge raccoon. I’m not very fast, owing to a leg injury, but the rods have a button that extends them quickly and then they retract automatically. All I have to do is get in range. My prey hasn’t spotted me. The rain has washed my scent away, and the lightning hides me from the raccoon’s gaze. I step closer and closer, silently creeping up to it, using smaller flashes to keep its location in my head. A flash of lightning peals, revealing me to the creature, and before it can scurry away, I push the button and hear the crackle of electricity. It falls on its side, dead. I hold the rod up above my head.

Winner!

I pick up the corpse and carry it back to my house. Just as I set it in a basin to start cleaning it, my small television turns on. Every television turns on when there’s an official broadcast. I roll my eyes. I can’t wait to hear.

A.J. Sweetbottom, the master of ceremonies for the Hunger Games, pops up on the screen.

“Hello, people of Panem!” He bounces in his chair, his chubby body wiggling in his light blue suit. “In case you just missed it, that was President Abnar Snow announcing that this year’s Hunger Games is a Quarter Quell! This is the 25th year of the Hunger Games, and things will be done a little differently in celebration of the anniversary of the ending of the Dark Days.” He cheers animatedly, and a little longer than everyone else. “The Reaping Day is in a week, and I have to tell you, I think this year is going to be the best ever!” He says it so energetically, it almost sounds like a party worth going to. The crowd goes wild. I wait for him to say more about what’s different in the games, but he doesn’t elaborate. It’s possibly the last year I have to be at the Reaping. I turn 19 the day after. I doubt the officials will care.

The raccoon is prepared in record speed, and his meat put in my tiny icebox, one only keepers are given. I wash his pelt and hang it up to dry. I’ll cure it later. I grab my pack and head out to the road. The district town is fifteen miles, a distance I can’t walk anymore with my bad leg. My brothers, the twin rogues Gin and Spark, save up money each month to buy me a transportation pass. There’s a Peacekeeper tower near my spread, and whenever I need a lift, they drive me to town in their car. Skinner, the one in charge of the tower, greets me with a nod as I come up.

“Need a ride, Keeper Elena?” He knows my turbines are working, so that’s the only reason I’d be up here. He doesn’t really like being my escort, but the extra money doesn’t hurt his attitude. After I nod, we get into the ugly jeep, one with no cover I might add, and drive to town.

“Must be something important,” he says over the rain.

I’m not in the mood to share. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Ain’t late. People might see you.” His fake concern almost sounds un-fake.

“I’m not staying long,” I answer, hating that the only reason he mentions it is he thinks me being an outcast is amusing. Especially the reason why.

“You could stay over at the tower sometime,” he says with a grin I’ve come to hate.

“I like my turbine just fine, Skinner.”

He laughs. “Then I’ll come over there, darlin’.” His hand inches to my leg. I resist the urge to slap it, since doing so will probably get me a lashing, or something else horrid.

“No visitors,” I quip back.

“Now now, Keeper Elena. You know as well as I that you used to have a gentleman caller in that turbine almost every night. That’s what the other men tell me.”

He has to bring this up. “That was four years ago.”

“What was his name,” he asks, his tone teasing.

Robert. Just the thought of his name brings back memories. His cheeky grin, his hands on my body. My cheeks flame.

“Looks like your thoughts are one step away from decent,” Skinner says huskily, no doubt thinking he’s seductive.

“And yours wouldn’t know a decent thought if it bit them.” I keep my gaze away from him, and jump out of the jeep when we’ve reached the edge of town. I hear him shouting, probably changing his tone and saying I shouldn’t be on foot, but I ignore him. My family’s house isn’t far.

My parents are only a couple because of a last attempt at rebellion. The people in District 5 declared there would be no more children born to be slaughtered in the Hunger Games. The Dark Days had just ended, and this decision was sparked by the announcement of the first Games. President Abnar Snow responded by marrying every fertile young person older than 18 off to another citizen, taking care to choose someone they did not know. All of them. And their marriage contracts were unbreakable. They were also required to produce at least two children, and if they did not become pregnant within two years, the Peacekeepers would make sure it happened. Every couple obeyed, and the rebellion was squelched for good.

My parents didn’t know each other before they were married. Each in love with someone else, now had to watch their sweethearts be in another’s arms. Everyone learned to at least tolerate their unwanted spouses, and a few even fell in love. Mine obviously liked each other enough to have another child after their required two came at the same time. You couldn’t tell by seeing them together, however. The only thing they agree on is that they no longer consider me their blood.

I avoid a few people still out, and find my way to the back door of my family’s house. I knock four times, then three. There’s a scuffle, some stomping, and the door opens. Spark is there, holding a bag of whatever they can spare and think I need. He hands it to me, and I make out Gin standing in the opposite doorway, keeping watch.

“Hey, Lena,” he whispers.

“Did you catch the Quarter Quall announcement?”

He scans behind me, making sure we’re not seen. “It’s Quell, and yes.”

I roll my eyes. “Well I didn’t. What did they say?”

He sighs and doesn’t look at me. “It’s not good, baby girl.” We hear Gin snap his fingers and Spark slams the door in my face. The lock clicks and I hear my father’s low voice. My fingers grip the burlap bag in anger, so before I can make it worse by being seen, I turn around and stomp back to Skinner.

He smiles and takes the sack, even though it’s not heavy. “Nice family visit?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, walking around the jeep to get in my seat.

“Hold up, little miss. Official announcement.” He points to the television screens nearest us, calling for everyone to listen to the required watching. I can tell he’s sorry he has to do his job for once. I pull my hood forward and walk over to the screens.

A small crowd has gathered around the square to watch. I stay near the back, hunching slightly to look shorter. The screen lights up with the symbol of Panem and with everything lit up, my eyes automatically go to a girl wearing a white dress. She’s standing next to him. Next to Robert.

The years have been good to him. He’s now roguishly handsome, where before he was just cute. His body has more muscles, and he’s taller. The girl standing next to him is obviously his new sweetheart, as he has no sisters. While the anthem plays, he tries to put his arm on her and touch her hair, but she pushes his every advance away. I narrow my eyes in fury. Of course he’d go from a girl like me to a girl who is so virginal, she won’t let him touch her.

President Abnar’s voice comes to our ears. “Citizens of Panem, in remembrance of the Dark Days, and the 25th anniversary of the peace that has been in our land, we have drawn the first Quarter Quell envelope describing the details for this year’s Hunger Games. This year the tributes of the Hunger Games will be decided by a vote. Every young person, age 12 to 18, will put their votes forward in the next week, and the tributes will be announced at the Reaping.” He says more official things, then adds, “And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”

I stand still, frozen to my spot. The odds are not in my favor this year. The world turns into a blur and as the crowd starts to leave, someone knocks me over. I fall into the mud, face first. Concerned voices offer to help me up, hands grab my arms. When I stand straight, my hood has fallen back and they can see my face.

“It’s her,” an old woman cries, her hands coming off my arm like I’m burning her. Everyone backs away from me, muttering things like, “loose woman,” “devil’s spawn,” and others that I’ve heard before.

I turn to leave, wiping my face with my sleeve, watching the crowd part a path so no one has to touch me. Bastards. I keep walking, looking at the ground. Her shoes catch my eye. The girl that Robert loves now. Polished shoes, barely showing under her long and modest white dress. My gaze travels up her dress and I see Robert next to her, looking at me like I’m dirty, his eyes haughty like he’s done nothing wrong.

I swing my foot back and bring it towards him, slinging a glob of mud on their perfect clothes. She gasps, and he steps in front of her, to protect her from me. The evil girl. Don’t let the evil girl taint her, they’re all thinking. I straighten up, hold my head high, and keep walking towards Skinner and his jeep.

When I’m halfway there, I hear someone shout, “I’m telling my daughter to vote for you, harlot! We don’t need your kind here! The Games will kill you for your sins!”

Skinner already has the jeep started when I get there. His face has lost its humor. I get into my seat and he takes off. We don’t speak for the first five miles.

“Tell me something, Elena.” He rarely calls me by just my name. “Do the people here actually believe the Hunger Games are justified?” He’s only been stationed here a year.

I watch the horizon, focus on the storm that’s still raging at sea. “They don’t believe it’s a punishment for rebellion, as the Capital believes. They believe that anyone who dies in the Games is being punished for sins.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Innocent girls and boys from our district have been killed in the Games. Ones who wouldn’t kill a spider. And now their families refuse to mention their names. They obviously had a sin, and the god of Panem punished them for it.”

He laughs, turning back into a Peacekeeper. “The seven deadly sins, is that what they think? There is no god in Panem.”

I picture President Abnar’s face. “Yes. There is.”

-i-

 


End file.
